“I’m not interested in him for me, silly,” Jo Ann said, playfully nudging Bailey with her elbow. “He’s all yours.”
“Mine!” Bailey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re nuts.”
“No, I’m not. He’s tall, dark and handsome, and we both know how perfect that makes him for a classic romance. And the way you zeroed in on Parker the instant you saw him proves he’s got the compelling presence a hero needs.”
“The only presence I noticed was his umbrella’s! He nearly decapitated me with the thing.”
“You know what I think?” Jo Ann murmured, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I think that something inside you, some innate sonar device, was in action. You’re hungering to find Michael. Deep within your subconscious you’re seeking love and romance.”
“Wrong!” Bailey declared adamantly. “You couldn’t be more off course. Writing and selling a romance are my top priorities right now. I’m not interested in love, not for myself.”
“What about Janice?”
The question was unfair and Bailey knew it. So much of her own personality was invested in her heroine.
The train finally reached their station, and Bailey and Jo Ann stood up and made their way toward the exit.
“Well?” Jo Ann pressed, clearly unwilling to drop the subject.
“I’m not answering that and you know why,” Bailey said, stepping onto the platform. “Now kindly get off this subject. I doubt I’ll ever see Parker Davidson again, and if I do I’ll ignore him just the way he’ll ignore me.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Absolutely positive.”
“Then why do you suppose he’s waiting for you? That is Parker Davidson, isn’t it?”
Bailey closed her eyes and struggled to gather her wits. Part of her was hoping against hope that Parker would saunter past without giving either of them a second’s notice. But another part of her, a deep womanly part, hoped he was doing exactly what Jo Ann suggested.
“Good morning, ladies,” Parker said to them as he approached.
“Hello,” Bailey returned, suspecting she sounded in need of a voice-box transplant.
“Good morning!” Jo Ann said with enough enthusiasm to make up for Bailey’s sorry lack.
Parker bestowed a dazzling smile on them. Bailey felt the impact of it as profoundly as if he’d bent down and brushed his mouth over hers. She quickly shook her head to dispel the image.
“I considered our conversation,” he said, directing his remark to Bailey. “Since you’re having so many problems with your hero, I decided I might be able to help you, after all.”
“Is that right?” Bailey knew she was coming across as defensive, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
Parker nodded. “I assume you decided to follow me that day to learn pertinent details about my habits, personality and so on. How about if the two of us sit down over lunch and you just ask me what you want to know?”
Bailey recognized a gift horse when she saw one. Excitement welled up inside her; nevertheless she hesitated. This man was beginning to consume her thoughts already, and she’d be asking for trouble if she allowed it to continue.
“Would you have time this afternoon?”
“She’s got time,” Jo Ann said without missing a beat. “Bailey works as a paralegal and she can see you during her lunch hour. This afternoon would be perfect.”
Bailey glared at her friend, resisting the urge to suggest she have lunch with Parker since she was so keen on the idea.
“Bailey?” Parker asked, turning his attention to her.
“I…suppose.” She didn’t sound very gracious, and the look Jo Ann flashed her told her as much. “This is, um, very generous of you, Mr. Davidson.”
“Mr. Davidson?” Parker said. “I thought we were long past being formal with each other.” He dazzled her with another smile. It had the same effect on Bailey as before, weakening her knees—and her resolve.
“Shall we say noon, then?” Parker asked. “I’ll meet you on Fisherman’s Wharf at the Sandpiper.”
The Sandpiper was known for its wonderful seafood, along with its exorbitant prices. Parker might be able to afford to eat there, but it was far beyond Bailey’s meager budget.
“The Sandpiper?” she repeated. “I…I was thinking we could pick up something quick and eat on the wharf. There are several park benches along Pier 39…”
Parker frowned. “I’d prefer the Sandpiper. I’m doing some work for them, and it’s good business practice to return the favor.”
“Don’t worry, she’ll meet you there,” Jo Ann assured Parker.
Bailey couldn’t allow her friend to continue speaking for her. “Jo Ann, if you don’t mind, I’ll answer for myself.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry.”
Parker returned his attention to Bailey, who inhaled sharply and nodded. “I can meet you there.” Of course it would mean packing lunches for the next two weeks and cutting back on Max’s expensive tastes in gourmet cat food, but she supposed that was a small sacrifice.
Parker was waiting for Bailey when she arrived at the Sandpiper at a few minutes after noon. He stood when the maitre d’ ushered her to his table. The room’s lighting, its thick dark red carpet and rich wood created a sense of intimacy and warmth that appealed to Bailey despite her nervousness.
She’d been inside the Sandpiper only once before, with her parents when they were visiting from Oregon. Her father had wanted to treat her to the best restaurant in town, and Bailey had chosen the Sandpiper, renowned for its elegance and its fresh seafood.
“We meet again,” Parker said, raising one eyebrow—that hero quirk again—as he held out her chair.
“Yes. It’s very nice of you to do this.”
“No problem.” The waiter appeared with menus. Bailey didn’t need to look; she already knew what she wanted. The seafood Caesar salad, piled high with shrimp, crab and scallops. She’d had it on her last visit and thoroughly enjoyed every bite. Parker ordered sautéed scallops and a salad. He suggested a bottle of wine, but Bailey declined. She needed to remain completely alert for this interview, so she requested coffee instead. Parker asked for the same.
After they’d placed their order, Bailey took a pen and pad from her purse, along with her reading glasses. She had a list of questions prepared. “Do you mind if we get started?”
“Sure,” Parker said, leaning forward. He propped his elbows on the table and stared at her intently. “How old are you, Bailey? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”
“Twenty-seven.”
He nodded, but was obviously surprised. “According to Jo Ann you work as a paralegal.”
“Yes.” She paused. “You’ll have to excuse Jo Ann. She’s a romantic.”
“That’s what she said about you—that you’re a romantic.”
“Yes, well, I certainly hope it works to her advantage and to mine.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows lifted.
“We’re both striving to becoming published novelists. It takes a lot more than talent, you know.”
Hot crisp sourdough rolls were delivered to the table and Bailey immediately reached for one.
“The writer has to have a feel for the genre,” she continued. “For Jo Ann and me, that means writing from the heart. I’ve only been at this for a few months, but there are several women in our writers’ group who’ve been submitting their work for five or six years without getting published. Most of them are pragmatic about it. There are plenty of small successes we learn to count along the way.”
“Such as?”
Bailey swallowed before answering. “Finishing a manuscript. There’s a real feeling of accomplishment in completing a story.”
“I see.”
“Some people come into the group thinking they’re going to make a fast buck. They think anyone should be able to throw together a romance. Generally they attend a couple of meetings, then decide writing is too hard, too much effort.”
“What about you?”
“Have you always wanted to be a writer?” Parker helped himself to a roll.
“No. I wasn’t even on my high-school newspaper, although now I wish I had been. I might not have so much trouble with sentence structure and punctuation if I’d paid more attention back then.”
“Then what made you decide to write romances?”
“Because I read them. In fact, I’ve been reading romances from the time I was in college, but it’s only been in the past year or so that I started creating my own. Meeting Jo Ann was a big boost for me. I might have gone on making the same mistakes for years if it wasn’t for her. She encouraged me, introduced me to other writers and took me under her wing.”
The waiter arrived with their meals and Bailey sheepishly realized that she’d been doing all the talking. She had yet to ask Parker a single question.
The seafood Caesar salad was as good as Bailey remembered. After one bite she decided to treat herself like this more often. An expensive lunch every month or so wouldn’t sabotage her budget.
“You were telling me it only took you six months to write Forever Yours,” Parker commented between forkfuls of his salad. “Doesn’t it usually take much longer for a first book?”
“I’m sure it does, but I devoted every spare minute to the project.”
“I see. What about your social life?”
It was all Bailey could do not to snicker. What social life? She’d lived in San Francisco for more than a year, and this lunch with Parker was as close as she’d gotten to a real date. Which was exactly how she wanted it, she reminded herself.
“Bailey?”
“Oh, I get out occasionally,” but she didn’t mention that it was always with women friends. Since her second broken engagement, Bailey had given up on the opposite sex. Twice she’d been painfully forced to accept that men were not to be trusted. After fifteen months, Tom’s deception still hurt.
Getting over Tom might not have been so difficult if it hadn’t been for Paul. She’d been in love with him, too, in her junior year at college. But like Tom, he’d found someone else he loved more than he did her. The pattern just kept repeating itself, so Bailey, in her own sensible way, had put an end to it. She no longer dated.
There were times she regretted her decision. This afternoon was an excellent example. She could easily find herself becoming romantically interested in Parker. She wouldn’t, of course, but the temptation was there.
Parker with his coffee-dark eyes and his devastating smile. Fortunately Bailey was wise to the fickle hearts of men. Of one thing she was sure: Parker Davidson hadn’t reached his mid-thirties, still single, without breaking a few hearts along the way.
There were other times she regretted her decision to give up on dating. No men equaled no marriage. And no children. It was the children part that troubled her most, especially when she was around babies. Her decision hit her hard then. Without a husband she wasn’t likely to have a child of her own, since she wasn’t interested in being a single mother. But so far, all she had to do was avoid places where she’d run into mothers and infants. Out of sight, out of mind….
“Bailey?”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, suddenly aware that she’d allowed her thoughts to run unchecked for several minutes. “Did I miss something?”
“No. You had a…pained look and I was wondering if your salad was all right?”
“Yes. It’s wonderful. As fantastic as I remember.” She briefly relayed the story of her parents treating her to dinner at the Sandpiper. What she didn’t explain was that their trip south had been made for the express purpose of checking up on Bailey. Her parents were worried about her. They insisted she worked too hard, didn’t get out enough, didn’t socialize.
Bailey had listened politely to their concerns and then hugged them both, thanked them for their love and sent them back to Oregon.
Spotting her pad and pen lying beside her plate, Bailey sighed. She hadn’t questioned Parker once, which was the whole point of their meeting. Glancing at her watch, she groaned inwardly. She only had another fifteen minutes. It wasn’t worth the effort of getting started. Not when she’d just have to stop.
“I need to get back to the office,” she announced regretfully. She looked around for the waiter so she could ask for her check.
“It’s been taken care of.”
It took Bailey a moment to realize that Parker was talking about her meal. “I can’t let you do that,” she insisted, reaching for her purse.
“Please.”
If he’d argued with her, shoveled out some chauvinistic challenge, Bailey would never have allowed him to pay. But that one word, that one softly spoken word, was her undoing.
“All right,” she agreed, her own voice just as soft.
“You didn’t get a chance to ask your questions.”
“I know.” She found that frustrating, but had no one to blame but herself. “I got caught up talking about romance fiction and writing and—”
“Shall we try again? Another time?”
“It looks like we’ll have to.” She needed to be careful that lunch with Parker didn’t develop into a habit.
“I’m free tomorrow evening.”
“Evening?” Somehow that seemed far more threatening than meeting for lunch. “Uh…I generally reserve the hours after work for writing.”
“I see.”
Her heart reacted to the hint of disappointment in his voice. “I might be able to make an exception.” Bailey was horrified as soon as the words were out. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. For the entire hour, she’d been lecturing herself about the dangers of getting close to Parker. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s crucial that I maintain my writing schedule.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Parker took a business card from his coat pocket. He scribbled on the back and handed it to her. “This is my home number in case you change your mind.”
Bailey accepted the card and thrust it into her purse, together with her notepad and pen. “I really have to write…I mean, my writing schedule is important to me. I can’t be running out to dinner just because someone asks me.” She stood, scraping back her chair in her eagerness to escape.
“Consider it research.”
Bailey responded by shaking her head. “Thank you for lunch.”
“You’re most welcome. But I hope you’ll reconsider having dinner with me.”
She backed away from the table, her purse held tightly in both hands. “Dinner?” she echoed, still undecided.
“For the purposes of research,” he added.
“It wouldn’t be a date.” It was important to make that point clear. The only man she had time for was Michael. But Parker was supposed to help her with Michael, so maybe…“Not a date, just research,” she repeated in a more determined voice. “Agreed?”
He grinned, his eyes lighting mischievously. “What do you think?”
Five
Max was waiting at the door when Bailey got home from work that evening. His striped yellow tail pointed straight toward the ceiling as he twisted and turned between her legs. His not-so-subtle message was designed to remind her it was mealtime.
“Just a minute, Maxie,” she muttered. She leafed through the mail as she walked into the kitchen, pausing when she found a yellow slip.
“Meow.”
“Max, look,” she said, waving the note at him. “Mrs. Morgan’s holding a package for us.” The apartment manager was always kind enough to accept deliveries, saving Bailey more than one trip to the post office.
Leaving a disgruntled Max behind, Bailey hurried down the stairs to Mrs. Morgan’s first-floor apartment, where she was
greeted with a warm smile. Mrs. Morgan was an older woman, a matronly widow who seemed especially protective of her younger tenants.
“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing Bailey a large manila envelope.
Bailey knew the instant she saw the package that this wasn’t an unexpected surprise from her parents. It was her manuscript—rejected.
“Thank you,” she said, struggling to disguise her disappointment. From the moment Bailey had read Jo Ann’s critique she’d realized Forever Yours would probably be rejected. What she hadn’t foreseen was this stomach-churning sensation, this feeling of total discouragement. Koppen Publishing had kept the manuscript for nearly four months. Jo Ann had insisted no news was no news, and so Bailey had begun to believe that the editor had held on to her book for so long because she’d seriously considered buying it.
Bailey had fully expected that she’d have to revise her manuscript; nonetheless, she’d hoped to be doing it with a contract in her pocket, riding high on success.
Once again Max was waiting by the door, more impatient this time. Without thinking, Bailey walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and dumped food into his bowl. It wasn’t until she straightened that she realized she’d given her greedy cat the dinner she was planning to cook for herself.
No fool, Max dug into the ground turkey, edging his way between her legs in his eagerness. Bailey shrugged. The way she was feeling, she didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway.
It took her another five minutes to find the courage to open the package. She carefully pried apart the seam. Why she was being so careful, she couldn’t even guess. She had no intention of reusing the envelope. Once the padding was separated, she removed the manuscript box. Inside was a short letter that she quickly read, swallowing down the emotion that clogged her throat. The fact that the letter was personal, and not simply a standard rejection letter, did little to relieve the crushing disappointment.
Reaching for the phone, Bailey punched out Jo Ann’s number. Her friend had experienced this more than once and was sure to have some words of wisdom to help Bailey through this moment. Jo Ann would understand how badly her confidence had been shaken.
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